The Ex-President part 1: That Frakking Music
by Aphelionite
Summary: Laura doesn't handle her new reality as well as she might after losing the presidential election to Baltar, prompting Bill to take drastic action...
1. Chapter 1

The Ex-President

Part One:

That Frakking Music

"_When in disgrace with fortune and men__'__s eyes_

_I all alone beweep my outcast state_

_And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries_

_And look upon myself and curse my fate__"_

_~ William Shakespeare ~_

**Chapter I**

* * *

Laura could tell by the look on Admiral Adama's face that his meeting with President Baltar had not gone well. _President_ Baltar: no two words strung together had ever made her as sick as those. The only thing Baltar was fit to be president of was his own fan club. Now was not the time to say such things however, standing on the hangar deck of Colonial One surrounded by her former security and staff trying to give the impression that she was stepping aside gracefully. She might have preferred slinking off the ship quietly but she wasn't about to give Baltar the added satisfaction. She was going to thank her people for their loyal service over the last ten months and then she was going to walk out of here with her chin up. She hoped.

'It's been an honour, ma'am,' said Stoker, one of her guard, holding her hand as he spoke. 'You know we all voted for you. Except Maurice (who was conspicuous by his absence), but we're gonna put him out an airlock later.'

She smiled and almost meant it, 'I appreciate the sentiment, Michael.'

'Anytime,' he smiled, reluctantly letting her go.

She looked around at the others. Bill was doing his best to blend into the background, to give her this moment with her people. 'I know it might be tempting to let Baltar fend for himself,' there were a few furtive looks exchanged and a less subtle 'hell yeah' coughed out from somewhere, '_but _I hope you will continue to do your jobs as well for him as you have for me, because it's the people you serve and you make a difference in this fleet every day.' Not that it would be a fleet for much longer.

'We'll see you back here before long, ma'am,' called Lawrence from the back and there were echoes of agreement.

'If you ever need anything, ma'am,' said Daria, one of her junior aides, looking slightly tearful.

'I'll let you know. Thank you, all,' she said, her gaze sweeping the small group of dependable colleagues one last time. She had made her official goodbyes to the entire staff of Colonial One before Baltar's inauguration but the people around her now were the ones who cared enough to want to give their personal condolences over the election and best wishes for the future, whatever that might hold. The only person missing was Laura's chief aide, Tory Foster, for the simple reason that she had preceded Roslin off the ship, moving to the Zephyr the day before. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Laura said, 'I wish you all the best of luck.' And she sincerely meant it. They were probably going to need it.

Bill came forward and her hand was cold in his as he helped her onto the wing of the raptor. He alone heard the shaky breath she took as the door closed. Racetrack and Skulls were piloting and both kept their eyes front out of respect for their passengers.

Laura felt numb leaving Colonial One, leaving almost everyone she knew behind, her nine year political career at an abrupt and unforeseeable end, but then, when did she _ever _see it coming? 'He's going ahead with the settlement, isn't he?' she asked at last, though Bill's face on the hangar deck had said it all.

'Yes.'

It was a very quiet ride back to Galactica.

'I've put you in quarters on F-Deck. They used to be officer's quarter's so you won't have to share,' Bill explained, as he led Laura off the port hangar deck, the largest of her luggage bags slung over his shoulder. She nodded mutely, barely acknowledging the people they passed. More than half of the fleet had voted for Baltar and, though she had fared slightly better aboard Galactica than Baltar in the polls, the guilty looks and quickly averted gazes were ill-disguised as she walked up the corridor. Here were some of the morons who had chosen fiction over reality and succeeded in deposing her, but they were not the only ones who would suffer for it, she was sure of that.

She was still stewing in these uncharitable thoughts when she realised that they had arrived at her new home. The room resembled the inside of a metal cargo container more than anything else, utterly devoid of character, charm, windows. In the living area there was a desk, a wardrobe and a small blue two-seater sofa that reminded her of the one she had slept on aboard Colonial One. From what she could see there was a bathroom but it didn't appear to have a shower, only a toilet and sink. Looked like she'd have to get used to communal showering.

'Home, sweet home,' she said wryly, letting her bags slump to the floor just inside the hatchway and suddenly feeling extraordinarily miserable at the thought of spending day after day gazing at nothing but these barren walls and her own navel.

To her horror she felt tears welling up and hurriedly turned away, hoping Bill hadn't noticed. To her shame he decided not to be accommodatingly oblivious to her distress. She felt his comforting hand on her shoulder but shied away from it, reaching down to pick up a bag and wiping her eyes in the process. 'I'm fine. I should unpack,' she said, not looking at him as she hoisted the bag onto the bed, blindly pulling out clothes.

There was a long moment of silence in which Laura both feared and craved to feel his hand on her shoulder again but, finally, he simply said, 'You know where to find me.'

She nodded, not trusting her voice as more tears glided down her cheeks, staying bent over the bag until she heard the hatch close behind him, when she sobbed and sank down onto the bed, wrapping her arms around herself.

Baltar was president. _Baltar_, the man who had at best fraternised with the cylons and at worst colluded in the genocide of Mankind; Baltar, whose nuclear bomb had somehow ended up aboard Cloud Nine; Baltar, who sought power not to make a difference to the people but to take it from her because she had wounded his ego; Baltar, who had his head so far up his own ass it was a wonder he wasn't constantly crashing into things. This was the man who had beaten her in a free and democratic election. This was who the people had chosen. Not to mention Vice-President Zarek, the convicted _terrorist_, who was no doubt getting his fair share of enjoyment from her removal, too.

And now both were tied to the promise that had won them the election: settlement on a planet that was far from ideal for the short-term and insufficiently endowed to support them in the long-term. They couldn't live on dreams alone as Baltar and Zarek had connived to convince the people and Baltar had proven time and again as vice-president that the responsibilities of leadership held little interest for him. Life on 'New Caprica' (ha!) would be hard to manage for someone competent. Where would they be when the novelty wore off for Baltar? When his shiny new sceptre lost its gleam?

But that wasn't her problem anymore was it? The people had chosen and Baltar was the guy for them. Never mind that she had scooped most of them out of the void after the attacks, never mind that she had kept them alive this long, never mind any of that because she had had the gall to tell them the truth rather than what they _wanted _to hear and nobody wanted to hear that they couldn't have their old lives back _right now_. They looked at their children and dreamed of open spaces for them to run around in, she got that, she did, but Laura was afraid for her people, deeply afraid, and knowing that they chose their own fates didn't make it any easier to watch them settle on this gods-forsaken planet, knowing the endeavour was doomed from the first.

And, knowing this, she had let Baltar win the election, she had _let _Bill convince her that she wouldn't be able to live with it but now she was having second thoughts. Second, third, fourth. Shouldn't she have saved the people from their own ignorance? Shouldn't she have done anything to stop Baltar and Zarek from coming to power? Hadn't that been why she'd been sent the vision of Baltar when she was dying? So that she would know how critical it was to protect the people from him? Just a few weeks ago she'd been so sure she had this election in the bag and now, here she was, flat on her face with the rug pulled out from under her.

What was shegoing to do now? In the last ten months she'd gone from Secretary of Education to President of the Colonies, from terminal breast-cancer to miracle cure, from wallflower to girl-power and she felt as if she'd just stepped off a fairground ride, dizzy with all the things she hadn't had time to think about until now. She hardly even recognised herself anymore.

How could she possibly know what she was going to do next?

She pushed the bag off her bed and lay down on the bare mattress, hoping that sleep and obliviousness would come quickly, and that she would wake to find out this had all been a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

PLEASE READ: This is not a new addition to the ExPres, I have just decided to break it down into smaller pieces, but for those of you who got excited, the next bit's going up under 'The ExPresident 2'** ;)**

**That Frakking Music **

**Chapter II**

Bill wasn't sure if he was taking his life into his own hands or not. He had contemplated delegating the task to Starbuck or Tigh, those in his crew with the thickest skin, but in the end he'd come to the conclusion that if things went south the consequences should land on his head alone. He'd sent his officers on dangerous missions before but this one could be particularly unpleasant for everyone involved. No, this one was his to shoulder - not that he hadn't had a little help with the rewiring from Dee. Wouldn't want to wake the entire ship, now.

He was leaning against a bulkhead in corridor five on F-Deck watching a certain hatchway. He glanced at his watch, waiting. The other crewmen in the corridor shared a small smile at the muffled start-up of reveille suddenly sounding on the other side of the hatch, recognising it, no doubt, from basic training. Less than thirty seconds later an extremely disgruntled redhead all-but-staggered out into the corridor to find out what the frak the racket was. She spotted Bill opposite in his work-out clothes, saw the extra sweats in his hands, the calm, assured look on his face.

Then she saw red.

'What the hell is _this_?' Laura demanded, her voice deadly, tying her dressing-gown with strong jerks as if imagining the belt around his neck.

'The only way I've been able to get your attention in over a week,' he replied, standing up straight as she closed on him.

'Well you have it,' she assured him furiously. '_What?__'_

Suddenly Bill was having second thoughts about his oh-so-clever plan. He was glad to see her though, even if it was staggeringly obvious that the feeling wasn't mutual. Of course he knew that she'd been getting her meals regularly delivered to her quarters but he hadn't personally clapped eyes on her since the day she'd arrived aboard Galactica and that was a situation he just wasn't comfortable with. Now that she was standing in front of him, with dark circles under her eyes and less flesh on her bones than he remembered, he wondered if he shouldn't have made this house-call a little sooner.

'I'm worried about you,' he admitted, his quiet words almost drowned by the cacophony still issuing from her quarters.

'Concern noted,' she bit off, turning away.

'You can't just lock yourself away like this,' he called after her.

She stopped, swivelling back to face him and he thought he saw a couple of people pull about-turns out of the corner of his eye. 'Can't?' she repeated dangerously.

Ignoring the (obviously very well honed) self-preservation instincts that were telling him to run for his life Bill instead opted to close the gap between them. 'You can't let Baltar chase you into hiding like this, you're stronger than that, Laura. You're-'

'You don't know what the frak you're talking about,' she said, looking disgusted. 'You think you _know _me? We've known each other what, less than a year and you think you've got me all figured out? Well, I've got news for you, Admiral: you don't know shit.'

'Laura -' began Bill, taken aback at the contempt in her voice.

'Don't _touch_ me,' she hissed, knocking his arm away. 'Don't call, don't write, just shut that frakking music off and leave me the hell alone.'

Bill flinched slightly as the hatch slammed shut behind her.

Should've gotten Saul to do it, he thought.

* * *

Where the _hell _did he get off telling her what she could and couldn't do? And what was with this frakking music? What was she? A frakking recruit? Probably thought he was pretty frakking clever, Laura fumed, prowling up and down the small room. Of course it didn't help that she had lain awake most of the night before (and every night since the election) and had barely been asleep half-an-hour when she'd been so rudely awoken. She had half a mind to find accommodation aboard another ship! But the mere thought of being lost out there amongst the crowds was enough to make her chest feel tight and she paused in her pacing, loosening her dressing-gown. Better to hide away in the belly of the whale than be regurgitated into that choppy sea of indifference.

The music wasn't stopping, in fact she was half-convinced it had gotten louder. She ought to go back out there and give him another piece of her mind. How difficult was it to figure out that she didn't want to see him? She didn't want to see anyone.

She didn't have to and she wasn't going to. Period. If Bill didn't like it, it was his own tough luck, he should have thought about that before he handed the presidency to Baltar. It was gratifying to blame Bill and, better still, it was easy. Even with this music ringing in her ears she felt some satisfaction at keeping him from getting his. The more wounded he looked the harder she wanted to kick him. He'd ruined everything, he could have covered it up safe in the knowledge that it was for the greater good, but no, that would make them _criminals._ Never mind that a cylon collaborator was now sitting in the presidential chair then, so long as they weren't criminals… and he'd had the temerity to use _her _as his excuse! _She_ wouldn't be able to do it? she thought hysterically. She'd _been_ doing it until he'd interfered.

_Why _hadn't he just looked the other way?

Her own uselessness was like the constant taste of vomit in the back of her mouth, bitter and unrelenting. She'd tried telling herself that she'd been through worse, hell, losing her job was nothing compared to losing most of humanity but fear of losing the rest shattered any perspective she might have otherwise gained.

Meanwhile the wireless rang with Baltar's praises for every day that passed without a cylon sighting - as if he had anything to do with that - and for the first time in her life Laura found herself wishing the cylons _would _attack because then Baltar's assertion that the nebula could hide them indefinitely would disintegrate and they wouldn't be able to go ahead with the settlement. How far the mighty had fallen.

The music finally stopped after half an hour and there was a knock so soon after that she wondered how long they'd been standing out there. It was a crewman with a breakfast tray, much earlier than she usually took it, which she would have found suspicious had her brain not been addled by sleep-deprivation. She poured herself a welcome cup of coffee after he'd departed, noticing a folded piece of paper on the tray. She recognised the handwriting the moment she opened it.

_Same time tomorrow. Bill._

Son of a bitch.

Laura hurled the tray against the wall in an unwonted fit of pique, not only making a tremendous mess of her room but getting caught by the backsplash herself, which only made her madder and she kicked the door of the metal wardrobe, too, with an inarticulate shout of what could only be termed rage. She raged against Bill for having lost nothing, she raged against Baltar and Zarek for having gained everything, she raged against the gods and Fate for ever having placed the future of humanity in her hands, but most of all she raged against herself because she should have begged, _pleaded _with Bill to help her - and maybe he would even have done it. Perhaps it had been within her power to stop all of this…

And she had failed.

She raged because right now her rage might very well be the only thing holding her together and she desperately needed _something _to hold onto.


	3. Chapter 3

**That Frakking Music**

**Chapter III**

Three more days of solitude had done nothing to help Laura's mood. She was trying her best to control her temper after 'accidentally' upsetting a tray over the boy who brought her meals yesterday but That Frakking Music (as she so endearingly termed it) had a way of lighting her fuse and her fuse was not a long one of late so the potential for another blow-up was high. She hadn't seen Bill again but she knew he was out there, waiting for her to give up.

'Fat chance,' she muttered to herself, eyeing the offending speakers positioned so inconveniently near the ceiling for the millionth time, as if her glare could melt the electronics within. It was days like this that she wished she owned a sidearm, perhaps the kind with the exploding bullets, then she could just _shoot _the frakking speakers. Somehow she didn't think Bill would lend her one though, even if he didn't know what she intended to use it for - _especially_ if he didn't know what she intended to use it for. Well, she had to give him credit for some sense. Not much though, when she thought about Sharon imprisoned in the bowels of the ship.

She began to examine the wall beneath instead, the wads of tissue she'd wedged into her ears doing nothing to attenuate the music (and by extension her annoyance) as she felt around the edges of the panels for one that would come away. Really, how hard could it be to find the wire leading to the speakers and just yank it out?

It may not have been the soundest of logic but after four days of being woken so unpleasantly - at _five-thirty_ in the morning no less - she wasn't exactly at her most rational. In her mind beating the speakers was akin to beating Bill and the sure knowledge that this would (at least temporarily) stymie him only made it all the more desirable a goal. She was pissed off that her initial attack had failed so abysmally in attaining the desired outcome, namely, his backing off. Maybe if she showed him that she wasn't afraid to vandalise his ship when provoked, he would think twice.

She'd show him what she thought of his whole 'while you're staying under my roof' attitude. She managed to prise off a panel at torso height and bent to peer inside the shadowy, hollow bulkhead. _Ah_. The thick mass of wires inside was daunting just to _look _at let alone with any intention to interfere with them. Okay, maybe if she…

She began to separate the wires, giving each one an experimental tug and listening to see if she could hear it's termination point in the room. She found a couple of blue wires that sounded promising and seemed to lead in the direction of the speakers but upon giving them a good solid yank found that they were more securely fastened than she'd first anticipated. She gave it a few tries, at one point wrapping the wires around her hand, bracing her foot against the wall and tugging so furiously that had they actually given way she probably would have hit the opposite wall, but to no avail. Brute strength wasn't going to do it.

Changing tack, she reached for the large pair of scissors she'd used to pry the panel off. The wires weren't that thick, the heavy metal shears should work, she thought, closing the sharp jaws on the blue plastic coating. At that moment a five year old could have told her that what she was about to do was unwise but Laura, in her sleep-deprived and antagonised state, didn't realise it till there was a loud _SNAP _and she was pitched to the floor, whilst the room was pitched into absolute darkness.

She lay stunned for several long moments, wondering if _the _lights had gone out or _hers _had. One thing was for sure, she had not cut the wire to the speakers for even now, as she lay dazed and aching on the floor, that frakking music blared on. She moaned pathetically, her right hand throbbing painfully, nor was the back of her head feeling too pretty.

'That was really stupid,' she groaned out loud, touching her head as she gingerly sat up, already able to feel the beginnings of a lump. She felt sick.

Her first instinct was to try to find the hatch to let some light into the room but then she remembered that Bill was out there and she really didn't want to have to explain this one so she waited until a good fifteen minutes after the music had stopped before sneaking out of her quarters to visit sickbay. By this time her hand was stinging something awful, though the nausea at least had abated.

'What brings you down here at this unholy hour?' said Doctor Cottle, who was in his office, to which Laura had been directed by a bored looking nurse.

'Little accident,' she said, stopping just short of the thin aura of smoke drifting around the white-haired physician's head and holding out her hand.

'Looks like a burn,' he said, dropping his cigarette into a kidney bowl on his desk and getting up so he could examine it.

'Excellent deduction, doc,' she said, flinching then glowering when he probed closer to the wound. He turned her hand over.

'Looks like you got zapped. How did you manage that?' he asked, indicating for her to follow him over to a treatment area.

'Bad wiring,' she said.

He patted the bed, 'You fall?'

'I didn't fall, I was thrown,' she said grimly, rubbing the back of her head.

Cottle frowned, 'You feel nauseous?' he asked, pulling out a pocket-light and shining it into her eyes, his hand under her chin.

'Not anymore.'

His frown deepened at that. 'How long did it take you to get down here?'

'I'm not sure, thirty minutes maybe.'

'Did you lose consciousness?' he asked, holding up a finger and moving it back and forth across her field of vision.

'I don't think so.'

'You don't think so?' he repeated, eyebrows raised.

Laura got irked. 'I don't know! Does it really matter? Just patch me up so I can get the hell out of here,' she snapped.

'You're right, I suppose all these time-wasting little tests don'tmatter - unless you wanna wake up tomorrow, that is. You could have a concussion.'

'Just spare me the lack of a bedside manner,' she begged sarcastically.

'Somebody woke up on the surly side of the bed,' he noted.

Laura did not seem to appreciate his patronising tone. 'Well, you try being electrocuted first thing in the morning and see how cheery you are. I'd be happy to apply the paddles.'

'Is snapping at me making you feel better?' he asked, thinking that at least that way it was serving a purpose as he felt the back of her skull. Laura didn't answer, turning her face away slightly when he returned his attention to her hand, cheeks flushed. 'Any loss of sensation in your fingers?'

'I had pins and needles for a little while.'

'Can you feel that?' he asked, pressing a needle to the pads of her fingers one at a time.

'Yes,' she said five times over, the last drawn out into a sibilant sigh of renewed impatience.

'Doesn't appear to be any permanent damage,' he pronounced, turning to hunt down a tube of ointment and some dressings from the shelves behind him. 'Won't take a minute to dress.'

He partially used the time to observe her, noting the tired circles under her eyes, the peaky colouring and brief lapses into melancholia when she thought he wasn't paying attention. Tempted as he was to say something he could already guess how she would react to unsolicited advice.

'How have you been sleeping?'

'Mostly on my side, little bit on my stomach,' she answered flippantly.

'Funny,' he said, winding a gauzy bandage round her hand.

'_I _thought so.'

'Like hell.' he muttered. He might have pushed her but what was the point when she obviously didn't intend to be forthcoming? If anyone knew how to dissemble, it was a politician and experience had taught him that this one in particular was as stubborn as a mule when it came to her health. 'All done,' he said, taping down the end of the bandage. 'Take these with you,' he said, handing her the tube and spare dressings. 'How's your head?'

'Sore,' she said, rolling her eyes at what she viewed to be an inane question.

He found her a bottle of painkillers. 'Two every six hours.' She nodded once, sliding off the bed. 'Just do me a favour,' he said before she left. 'Take better care of yourself. And eat a decent meal for frak's sake.'


	4. Chapter 4

**That Frakking Music**

**Chapter IV**

The first job on Cally Henderson's itinerary this afternoon was a repair up on F-Deck. Laura Roslin had reported a problem with her lights first thing this morning and, though she wasn't president anymore, the Chief thought it wise to respond sooner rather than later. Cally didn't mind, it made a change from the exhaustive maintenance they'd been performing on the old Battlestar - not much of a change, but a change that got her out of Galactica's oily innards all the same. Though perhaps she shouldn't be so quick to complain: half the deck-gang had been out patching up civvie ships since the Cloud 9 disaster and they never stopped bitching about it. Cally, however, had little sympathy. It couldn't get any worse than the time she'd been sent over to the Astral Queen, the prison ship, and ended up biting off a man's ear, and getting shot for it. Now _that_ was a shitty assignment. Short of someone coming back less a limb, she was unimpressed by their trials and tribulations.

'Maintenance request?' she said brightly when the hatch swung open, though her smile faded a little at the answering grimace of annoyance. She got the impression that this was more due to her chipper demeanour than her presence in and of itself though.

'It's over here,' said Roslin and Cally stepped inside, putting down her tool-box to examine the damage. The candlelight, whilst romantic, didn't provide nearly enough light and she pulled her torch out of her belt to make up the difference. 'The blue ones,' said Laura needlessly, for Cally could see the severed wires for herself.

'Did you try to fix this yourself?' asked Cally, surprised to find the panel open and suddenly noticing Roslin's bandaged hand.

'I was trying to fix _something_,' said Laura evasively, sitting down on the unmade bunk, one leg tucked up under her. Cally spotted the blankets and pillow on the sofa and wondered for a moment if she'd been sleeping there. It looked like it - but why would she, when she had a perfectly good bunk? 'How long is this going to take?'

Cally shrugged easily, 'Not long. Just need to strip back the wires and patch them. I'm gonna have to cut main power to this section first though.'

'In your own time,' she said, though it somehow sounded more like 'Why weren't you finished five minutes ago?'

'I have to get authorisation to shut off the power,' Cally explained, hastily pulling the phone from the wall. If the rumours were true and the ex-president was not in full possession of the plot at present, she didn't fancy hanging around.

She surreptitiously glanced around, looking for signs of scattered marbles in Roslin's quarters while she waited for someone to find the chief. There wasn't a single defaced picture of Baltar on the walls, no dartboard with his face for a target, no evidence but her slightly frayed appearance that she might have let things go to pot since arriving aboard Galactica. She'd even go so far as to say Roslin's quarters were, well, boring. She appeared to have made no attempt to personalise the place but it was neat and clean, nothing psychotic so far as she could see. She finally desisted in her amateur surveillance attempts when Laura seemed to grow suspicious of her interest.

Permission to shut off the power was quickly granted once Chief Tyrol had been tracked down and Cally headed down the corridor to the switch-box, plunging thirty metres of corridor and the rooms lining it into partial or total darkness. A habitant of one of these rooms soon stuck his head out to see what was going on.

'Just effecting a minor repair, sir. Power will be restored in about ten minutes,' she said to the man she vaguely recognised as a marine. He nodded and disappeared again.

Another voice stopped her dead before she was halfway back to Roslin's room. 'Specialist Henderson.'

Frak. 'Yes sir,' she snapped, turning to address the admiral, whose quarters also happened to be within the temporary blackout zone, not that she'd expected him to be there at this time of day.

'What's the problem?' he asked, tucking his glasses into his breast-pocket.

'Just a couple of busted wires, sir. I'll have it fixed in no time.'

'What do you mean 'busted wires'?' he asked.

Cally rubbed her neck uncomfortably, having figured out that Roslin was responsible but not liking to say as much. She was a former president for frak's sake - and not just a little intimidating.

'Specialist?' demanded Adama.

She sighed, admitting, 'They look like they've been cut, sir.'

'Sabotage?' he asked, obviously not understanding her reticence to report such a thing, especially this close to the CIC.

'Not exactly, sir.'

The Admiral looked around again, noting the extent of the black-out and clearly asking himself what - or who - was located in this section. 'You've got to be kidding me,' he muttered darkly, heading straight for Roslin's room. Cally wasn't sure if she should follow or not till her dilemma was neatly solved by Adama's slamming of the hatch behind him. Moments later she could hear raised voices but not what they were saying. All she knew was that she wouldn't like to be in Roslin's shoes right now; the admiral sounded _pissed_.

'- could have killed yourself!'

'Right now, chance would be a fine thing!' Laura shot back, her head throbbing.

'This is _not _a frakking joke,' seethed Bill, furious with her not for the damage to his ship but the damage to herself, which she had waved in front of him just moments ago as proof that she had already been punished enough for her transgression. 'Of all the _stupid, reckless -_ what the hell were you thinking?'

'Oh I don't know, what _possible _reason could I have for wanting to cut off the power to certain equipment in this room at _five-thirty_ in the morning?' she snapped sarcastically.

'This has got to stop,' he said, voice at a more normal volume yet retaining its firmness.

'Precisely what I was thinking.'

'That's enough,' he warned her. 'I know you're having a hard time-'

'Oh give me a break,' she huffed, rolling her eyes.

'What do you think I'm trying to do?'

'I think you're trying to salve your own conscience,' she answered, though the question had been rhetorical.

'What am I supposed to feel guilty about?'

She hissed, turning away as if to say, 'You know exactly what you've done'.

'_Say it,_' he challenged. He wanted to hear her say it.

'You _let_ Baltar and Zarek take the election!' she shouted, pivoting back to face him.

'Baltar and Zarek _won_ the election, you mean,' he corrected her. She seemed to keep forgetting that bit.

'Settling on this planet is going to get us all killed,' she said with certitude.

'You don't know that.'

'Of course I _know _that,' she answered acerbically, clearly questioning her former estimation of his intelligence. 'You think the cylons have really stopped looking for us? "Sorry for destroying everything you held dear, have a nice life"? One day they're going to find us, Bill, it's only a matter of time and when that day comes you're going to look back and you're going to regret this - if you get the chance.' For an instant, only an instant, he saw the despair behind her condemnation of him and in that moment Bill realised the chokehold this possibility had on her.

'You think we're not already drawing up emergency evacuation plans? Doing everything we can to protect the people on the surface?'

'Protect?' she laughed incredulously, though there was no humour in her expression. 'You really think you could evacuate twenty or thirty thousand people in the time it would take for ten baseships to jump into orbit and nuke the settlement from space? You're out of your mind.'

'Sometimes you just have to do the best you can.'

'Well, the best you _could _have done was look the other _frakking _way!' she yelled, filled again with that bitter helplessness, wanting to hit him, smash that cool façade of certainty and shake the truth out of him: he didn't really believe any of that bullshit, in no possible reality was this going to be alright.

'It's _over_, Laura!'

'It wasn't 'over' when you decided _I _wasn't fit to be president. Funny how you had no problem having me arrested over a cylon raider but you're perfectly willing to stand by and watch Baltar and Zarek run this fleet right into the ground.'

'You want a repeat performance of what happened last time I declared martial law?' he answered and she could tell that whatever resolve was keeping him from laying into her was starting to crack.

'You never thought I was fit for the job, you couldn't wait to take over,' she knew that this was only half true but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

'Hey I wasn't the one who broke our agreement!'

Hook, line and sinker.

'So much for forgiveness…' she said softly. 'It's not quite what you bargained for at the time is it? I mean, I imagine it's easier to forgive someone you know is dying rather than someone you might have to live with.'

Bill looked stung. Laura had struck a nerve and though he believed his next words with every fibre of his being, they seemed to ring a little hollow with the blood thundering in his ears. 'I meant what I said back then. What is this? I thought we left all this behind on Kobol.'

'Admit it, you only forgave me because you felt sorry for me. You found out I had cancer and you felt bad for locking a sick woman up and you felt sorry for me. That's why you were so quick to forgive me.'

Laura seemed determined to mine the full potential of the nerve she'd found, whilst Bill found himself wondering how the hell had they gotten onto _this._ 'Trust me I'm not the kind of guy who forgives someone just 'cause they're dying.'

She surveyed him doubtfully. 'You're all heart, Bill. Ever since you got shot, you just can't help yourself. You can't just get on with it. You seem determined to go down in history as this great and good man but it won't matter what kind of man you were when there's nobody left to remember.'

'That's enough,' he ordered (and it _was_ an order), looking so menacing for a moment that Laura actually obeyed. 'I'm done talking about this,' he stated unequivocally. 'Now you have three options and three options only - _I__'__m _doing the talking now,' he said, the moment she opened her mouth to protest. 'Option one: Agree to be outside that hatch at five-thirty tomorrow and I'll have Specialist Henderson come back in and complete your repairs. Option two: Don't agree. Sit here in the dark. I've got time.'

'And '_option__'_three?' she asked, folding her arms defensively.

'Leave,' he said. 'I don't want that but if you're so determined to do this, to let this thing eat you up, I'm not sure I want to watch that. I'm not sure I can.'

Laura looked down at the floor, struck temporarily speechless, trapped between what she believed to be an entirely justifiable desire to be alone and a vision of herself in a year's time, still locked in this room, hair wild, clothes stained, surrounded by presidential news clippings and raving about Baltar and Zarek and this frakking planet. _Still _raving, she corrected herself.

'I'm not asking for much, Laura,' said Bill softly, taking advantage of her momentary lapse into silence.

'And what _are _you asking for, exactly?' she questioned and he realised that he hadn't actually gotten around to telling her that part yet. Well, she hadn't given him much of a chance till now.

Laura barely slept at all that night; her conscience smote her. This in itself was not new, but the reason was. She'd gone too far with Bill earlier, said a lot of stupid hurtful things. She'd finally succeeded in making him feel just a little bit as bad as she did but she felt far from victorious as she lay in her bed reliving it. What had she been thinking? Dredging up the past, deliberately _trying _to hurt him. There was no excuse, none at all…

Which was why - unfortunately - she would be exactly where he'd told her to be the next morning. Not that she was going to tell _Bill _why. Let him think it was for want of working lights and a quiet life; she hadn't entirely forgiven him for successfully appealing to her better nature yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**That Frakking Music**

**Chapter V**

The Old Man wouldn't have pushed Roslin too hard this first time out, aware that while she had regained her health since her battle with cancer, having to endure a prolonged illness which had brought her to the brink of death had been debilitating. He _had _planned to build her fitness back up gently. Of course after the stunt she'd pulled with the wiring in her quarters (and assured by Cottle that yesterday's accident wouldn't affect her performance) he was more inclined to ride her like a drill sergeant and make her run till she dropped.

'Move that ass, Roslin!'

Laura looked daggers at him but had long ago run out of breath to curse him with. Her expression said it all though as she puffed her way along the walkway above the hangar deck, red in the face both from exertion and irritation as workers looked up at Bill's none-too-polite nor quiet encouragement. If she could talk, he'd be getting such a tongue-lashing right now.

Bill knew it and as long as she still had the energy to be glaring at him like that, she had the energy to run. If she'd been trying to piss him off, she'd succeeded - perhaps they should do a victory lap. He yelled at her for another two hundred yards, at which point he realised that his use of the word 'fat' in relation to her derriere had gotten no reaction at all and she was looking as if she had finally been run ragged if not repentant.

'Alright,' he relented, more than a little glad to be stopping himself. It had been getting more and more difficult to keep up his insults with proper conviction. Laura dropped down onto the first likely object she saw, gasping for breath and pushing sweaty tendrils of hair off her face. 'You need to keep moving or you'll seize up,' he warned, but Laura slowly shook her head once, clutching her side and holding up a finger to indicate that she might be capable of acquiescing in about a minute. Maybe.

After more like three she managed to haul herself to her feet again, still breathing hard as they began walking back towards their quarters and Bill could see that she was shaking with fatigue. She'd managed a little under a kilometer, which wasn't bad going considering. This was definitely as far as he dared push her for now though, he wasn't a sadist - contrary to what Laura was probably thinking about now.

'You - bastard,' she panted, the moment she regained the ability to do so. 'I'm seeing - frakking - spots,' she complained, holding her pony-tail away from the back of her neck and fanning the area with her hand.

'Suck it up,' he said mercilessly, 'You had it coming.'

Laura seemed to think about this for a moment before saying, hopefully, 'Will you stop the music now?'

'Nope,' he said. If he stopped the music she'd have no impetus to get out of bed in the morning.

Hope extinguished, her face fell back into lines of grim annoyance. 'I changed my mind: you're an asshole.'

'I feel like I should go check on Starbuck. You seem to be channelling her spirit.'

'She thinks you're an asshole, too?'

'You'd have to ask her, but when it comes to attitude problems yours is reaching new heights,' he muttered, rethinking that second lap.

'Maybe I'd have a better attitude if I wasn't being coerced into running halfway round the frakking ship at the crack of dawn,' she posited, not troubling to lower her voice as the traffic in the corridors began to increase.

Bill didn't say anything; he wasn't about to give her an excuse to start lambasting him in public and, devoid of a reaction, Laura managed to hold her tongue, though she gave him a withering look and disappeared into the bathroom the moment they reached his quarters. By the time she re-emerged nearly an hour later she was looking thoroughly relaxed whilst Bill had to hurry not to be late for work.

* * *

Their runs continued with varying success (depending on which side of the bed Laura woke up on each morning) but Bill quickly realised his error in picking an activity which basically ensured that no conversation could be had. Most mornings they barely exchanged more than five words and he often got the impression that Laura was just going through the motions and he was merely herding her through Galactica's endless corridors. Therefore his next challenge lay in trying to get her to stay for breakfast after her post-workout shower.

Something he succeeded at, much to his own surprise, after only a week of cajoling, where Laura spontaneously admitted, 'I don't know what to do.'

Bill looked across the table at her, her hair still wet, one leg pulled up so she could rest her chin on her knee. The grey sweats he'd picked out for her had fit her perfectly and he was now slightly worried that she might grow suspicious about just how much time he'd spent admiring her figure. 'You'll figure it out.'

'I just can't shake this feeling that something awful's going to happen.'

'Maybe it won't be as bad as you think.'

She snorted, 'Yeah, right. He hadn't been president five minutes before nearly three thousand people were dead.' She chewed her lip but was finally unable to refrain from adding, 'Killed by the nuclear bomb from _his_ lab!'

'There was no evidence that Baltar had anything to do with the explosion,' he reminded her. If there _had _been it was a sure bet he would be sitting in a jail-cell right now, not lording it up aboard Colonial One. And, besides, what possible motive could Baltar have to blow-up Cloud 9 during his own inauguration? 'Now repeat after me: The president's problems are not _my_ problems.'

'I'd love to be his though,' she muttered sourly, draining the remains of her coffee and dropping her foot to the floor.

'Laura,' he sighed. She was like a dog with a frakking bone and her continued obsession with Baltar was starting to wear his patience thin.

'Oh _what?__'_ she said, narrowing her eyes combatively. 'I'm just supposed to put him out of my mind for the next four years?'

'How about for five minutes?'

He regretted it the instant he said it. The expression on her face was glacial.

'I'd better get going, I'm sure Colonel Tigh will be here any minute. Thanks for breakfast,' she said flatly, though she had hardly touched it.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' he said quietly, standing too, if only to get a better view of her leaving. More than five words exchanged, even more than five whole sentences, that was progress, and whatever string of expletives had been going through her head, she had refrained from actually saying them. He was encouraged.

'You know that's the second time this week I've seen Roslin leaving your quarters first thing in the morning,' noted Tigh, looking over his shoulder as he stepped through the hatch into Bill's quarters. 'Something you want to tell me?'

'You know we've been going running,' said Bill, resolutely ignoring the annoyingly inaccurate inference. He _wished_ 'going running' was a euphemism.

'I know that before this you hadn't gone running in five years or more,' he said slyly.

'Yeh, well I didn't think she'd take to boxing.' Nor was he fool enough to put a pair of boxing gloves on Laura Roslin and stand within striking distance.

'Why are you doing this?' asked Saul curiously.

'The woman's just been made redundant. You remember what that's like and she hasn't got anyone. I've got Lee, you've got Ellen, we're the lucky ones.'

'Lucky, yeh,' scoffed Saul, not feeling so lucky with Ellen giving him earache about moving down to the surface. 'And why do we care?'

'Because she was prepared to give her dying breath for this fleet and she deserves more than to be tossed aside,' said Bill with perhaps a little more vehemence than he'd intended, judging by the way Tigh was now looking at him anyway.

Truth was, he still hadn't shaken the impressions left with him since he'd found out about her illness; her strength and selflessness had humbled him, her courage far surpassing his own, which had seemed to diminish with the hours of her life as he realised how difficult it would be to lead the fleet without her. Some part of him knew that he had placed her on a pedestal back then, one she would no doubt have remained upon forever had nature taken its course.

Of course Laura's continued existence meant that he must inevitably find her out to be as human as the rest of them and sure enough, a few months after her recovery, she proved her fallibility on an ambitious scale. Still, he'd been able to see the good intention behind the criminal act and that she had not, finally, gone through with stealing the election left his lofty image of her largely untarnished. It wasn't that he thought she was perfect, she'd made her fair share of mistakes, but even her mistakes (so far as he could discern) came from a selfless place. She'd been willing to sacrifice not only her life but her principles, her soul, if it meant doing what was best for everyone else.

He'd realised back on Kobol that she was everything he'd always hoped for in a President, someone he could honestly look to for hope and guidance. People were idiots to trade Laura's honest, unwavering devotion to their well-being for Baltar's pie-in-the-sky promises - but democracy said they had every right to be idiots. No amount of sitting around _calling_ them idiots was going to change that.

He just hoped Laura would remember that soon.


	6. Chapter 6

**That Frakking Music**

**Chapter VI**

Before they knew it Laura had been aboard Galactica more than a month and had both acclimatised to the early wake-up call and stopped complaining about the exercise. Most mornings she was out of her room before That Frakking Music even started. Not everything was as easy for her to get used to however and she was still an unpredictable breakfast companion, though the outbursts were gradually becoming less frequent. Very gradually.

Bill would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous about tonight. Seizing on her relatively good mood this morning he'd asked her to dinner and she'd accepted. Now he was terrified he was going to frak it up by saying the wrong thing, which he found himself doing frequently lately. _Thinking_ he was going to say something wrong wasn't going to help him though so he tried his best not to. He just kept telling himself that if he could handle Saul, he could handle anything.

He was just beginning to wonder if she'd changed her mind when he heard her knock and the hatch swung open. 'Sorry I'm late,' she said, stepping inside and pulling the hatch shut behind her. 'Still having some trouble with the lights in my room. I think something's come loose.'

'Since you attempted a tonsillectomy on my ship?' he clarified.

'I claim temporary insanity and as it was your music that drove me insane, I would even go so far as to say it was your own fault, Admiral,' she said, seemingly unrepentantly, though they both knew better. 'I don't suppose you've got anymore of those lying around?' she asked, taking in the table and unlit candles.

'I'll have someone take another look at the wiring tomorrow,' he promised. 'Can I get you a drink?'

'Absolutely,' she said, shrugging 'whatever' when he asked what she'd prefer. She was dressed casually, in a soft, grey jumper and black trousers, and casual seemed to be the mood of the evening as she plopped herself down on the couch and made herself at home, attention instantly attracted to the row of books along the top. 'I suppose I've got more time to read now,' she mused, taking down a volume.

'There's the silver lining,' he said, handing her her drink before sinking down into the creaking leather himself.

'I suppose so. Depends on whether I can convince you to change your lending policy, doesn't it? Or lack thereof.'

'I'll consider it,' he hedged, clearly implying that she was going to have to work for it.

'What?' she asked, leaning away from him slightly as she scrutinized him, as if she would be better able to discern his intentions from there.

He laughed, 'I think I'll wait till you've got a few more of those in you.'

'In that case,' she said, downing the inch of liquid in one and handing him the book in her hand as she got up, 'I think I'll pour myself another.'

And another and another. Bill was afraid if he didn't get some food into her soon she'd be paralytic within the hour so he sent down to the galley for dinner. Not that Laura couldn't hold her liquor after all those years of attending diplomatic soirees but everyone had their limits and she seemed determined to find hers tonight.

'So…' he said, halfway through their meal.

Laura looked up at him, a forced smile on her face as she raised her glass to her lips again. It was obvious he was about to ask her something personal.

'I can't make you talk. I just thought you might want to,' he said, shaking his head slightly as if he were at a loss, which he was.

'I didn't come here for a therapy session, Bill.'

'Well that's good since I'm no therapist,' he said. 'Just a friend - I think.'

She sipped her drink again, neither confirming or denying it, perhaps thinking about it, and he felt a pang of resentment that was quickly quashed as he silently repeated the mantra that had stopped him from returning fire more than once in the last few weeks: "She doesn't mean it. Don't take it personally." Most of the time he really did believe that she couldn't help it. He could remember a time not so long ago when he hadn't been such pleasant company either. Of course Laura hadn't been around to see that, though she was largely the cause of it with her rebellion.

'I've never been much for sharing,' she said finally, sketching quotation marks around the last word. 'I mean, it doesn't change anything, things are what they are, I don't see what talking's going to do.'

'Might give you a new perspective,' he suggested.

'A new perspective or just perspective in general?' she asked and Bill sensed he was in dangerous waters. So what was new?

'It's easy to convince yourself a situation is a certain way when you only have your own opinion to rely on,' he said carefully.

Obviously not carefully enough though. 'Look, I don't need advice right now and I don't need fixing, I just need time, so can we please change the subject?'

Bill paused at the flash of anger in her voice, debating the advisability of pursuing the subject and coming down on the side of not-at-_all_ advisable. Risk of getting a fork in the eye: HIGH. 'Okay,' he agreed, taking new interest in his food.

Laura sighed. 'I'm sorry, that was uncalled for,' she said ruefully. 'Now you see why I haven't been getting out much lately. I am not good company, even when I want to be.'

He shook his head, 'It's okay, I shouldn't have said anything.'

'You said 'so', hardly grounds for me biting your head off. I'm… I shouldn't have… I mean, I…' she broke off in obvious frustration at her sudden inability to complete a sentence. She pushed back her chair and Bill reached out to stop her, both arrested mid-action by a knock at the hatch. Moments later it swung open to reveal Colonel Tigh who ducked inside, pulling the hatch closed behind him with a distinctly furtive air.

'Asylum,' he groaned, lurching towards the drinks cart and only belatedly realising that Adama wasn't alone. 'Ah, not interrupting anything am I?' he asked, determined to have at least one drink to fortify himself whether he was disturbing them or not.

'Ellen?' questioned Bill, needlessly.

'Where?' asked Saul, head whipping up to check the hatchway. Laura couldn't help a snort of laughter, something not lost on Bill, as Saul slumped, realising it had been a question and not a hail. 'I swear to gods if anyone tells her they saw me come in here they'll be scrubbing the sewage pipes for a _year_,' he said darkly, downing his drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

'You know she's going to come looking for you eventually,' said Bill.

'I could always hide in the head,' Tigh suggested slowly, as if he knew how ridiculous he sounded, a colonel in the Colonial Fleet, hiding from his own wife.

'You don't think she'll look in there?' asked Bill sceptically.

'You've got a point there. Okay, how about if you (he indicated Roslin) go in the head with me and - wait, wait! Hear me out - and you come out while she's here. She'll never suspect that we were in there together.'

'With good reason!' laughed Laura, not sure if she was offended or not.

'All I can say is gods help you if she _does_ check anyway. I'd like to see you talk your way out of that one,' said Bill. He really would.

'Some friend you are,' said Saul, pouring himself another drink.

'With friends like you two a man could get very thirsty,' said Bill. Laura shot him a smirk as she held her glass out to Tigh to be refilled, obviously feeling a little braver with a third person in the room to ward off anymore personal questions. That or the drink was starting to kick in. Bill shook his head.

'What? You expect me to buy my own drinks? Unemployed, remember.'

'Funny, I just heard we needed someone to scrub the sewage pipes…'

She narrowed her eyes at him, 'You wouldn't.'

Saul pulled up a chair, sliding her drink over to her. Bill didn't mind him sticking around. He was pretty sure Laura had been about to walk out of here before he'd arrived - now she was smiling. Well, no one knew how to drink their worries away better than Saul Tigh and an empty drinks cabinet was a small price to pay to hear Laura laugh for the first time in a month. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed it.

'So you got a pack of cards lying around?' said Saul, rubbing his hands together.

'Are you finished?' asked Bill, indicating Laura's half-eaten dinner.

'Mm,' she nodded, 'I'll help you clear away.' Afterwards she excused herself to use the bathroom, wagging a warning finger at Tigh as she went, '_Alone_.'

The moment the door was closed Saul turned to Bill. 'You sure you don't want me to -' he nodded his head towards the hatch, '- get out of your way.'

'You're not in my way,' said Bill, emptying the last measure of whisky into his glass before pulling a fresh bottle from the cabinet. Saul obviously hadn't given up the idea that there was something going on between him and Laura and Bill hoped it wasn't because he was being utterly transparent about his feelings for her. Maybe Saul just knew him too well. Well enough not to pursue the subject anyway, at least for now. 'Cards are in the second drawer,' he said, nodding in the general direction as he had his hands full decanting the new bottle.

Laura almost walked straight into him on turning out of the bathroom. 'Whoops,' she laughed, steadying herself on his arm. 'How many have I had?'

'Can you still remember your name?' asked Tigh, in the attitude of someone applying a test.

'Yes,' said Laura, though she had to pause for a fraction of a second to think about it.

'Then not enough,' he said, shuffling the deck of cards at the table. 'You play?'

'A little,' she hedged.

'Define 'a little',' he said, suspicions raised by the coy look on her face.

'Where's the fun in that?'

And she certainly did have fun kicking their asses. Not that the boys weren't valiantly trying to hold their own, she just seemed to get better the drunker she was - or they were getting worse the drunker _they _got. Or Bill had been distracted at a critical moment by the way Laura had leaned forward to check the stakes and he hadn't managed to claw his way back since. Whatever the reasons, Laura had managed to get enough loans out of Adama that she'd probably have reading material for a year, not to mention the pack of smokes she'd relieved Tigh of.

'Remind me never to play for money with you,' said Saul with a groan as she produced another full-colour hand.

'Absolutely not,' chortled Laura, sweeping up her winnings. 'I think I've found my new career.'

'At least we've still got our shirts,' said Saul, starting to laugh, 'You remember those girls on Picon?'

'You'll have to be more specific,' said Bill, shuffling the cards and wondering where this was going. Fleet headquarters had been on Picon and there were a lot of misadventures to choose from over the years. Picon City was _built_ to get a soldier in trouble.

'You know the ones: tall blonde, cute redhead.'

'Ah gods,' he said, shaking his head ruefully.

'What happened?' asked Laura, wholly intrigued.

'This was back when we were working freighters,' explained Tigh. 'We were down on Picon for some R'n'R, met a couple of pretty girls, got to talking and one of them suggests going back to their place. Of course, we weren't about to turn 'em down, I mean these girls were -'

'Very attractive,' supplied Bill, interrupting Saul's impression of an extremely buxom woman.

'_Very_ attractive,' agreed Saul emphatically, still looking like he was holding a pair of invisible melons. 'Anyway, we get back to their place and somehow end up getting into a game of strip triad.'

Laura raised her eyebrows at Bill, surprised and just a touch impressed. She'd never really pictured Bill as a ladies' man before. Perhaps it was the fact that he still wore his wedding ring, she just couldn't imagine him picking up girls in bars. Too risqué for the stoic admiral. Tigh, on the other hand… She'd have to ask him how he met Ellen sometime.

'_Sharks_,' said Bill, of the two girls, refocusing her attention.

Tigh laughed, 'Well, they were winning alright. _We__'__re _sitting pretty in our boxers and hadn't got so much as an earring off either of them.' The mental image alone was enough to make Laura titter. 'And, well, not long after that…' said Tigh, drawing it out for dramatic effect and Laura suddenly wondered if she actually wanted to hear the end of this story. Bill groaned, covering his eyes. 'Their boyfriends turned up.'

'_No!_' exclaimed Laura, both horror-struck and engrossed.

'I'd just like to point out that we didn't know these guys existed,' said Bill, as if he could salvage some part of his pride.

'Not till we were climbing out the window in our birthday suits anyway!' guffawed Tigh, slapping the table.

'Oh my _gods!_' gasped Laura between giggles. 'What happened to your _clothes_?'

'The blonde threw them out of the window a little too enthusiastically. By the time we got down the fire-escape to the street a bunch of frak-wits from the bar across the road had run off with 'em. They'd been stood outside, probably saw it all and thought it'd be funny.'

'Oh, they definitely saw it all,' laughed Bill.

'And of course our frakking wallets were in our clothes,' laughed Saul.

Laura clapped a hand to her mouth in delighted dismay. 'You mean to tell me -?'

'Five kilometres. Naked,' nodded Bill, in unhappy confirmation.

'And it's frakking cold on Picon.'

Laura was in stitches now, half-collapsed at the table, and it was contagious. It took them a good few minutes and another round of drinks to calm themselves down. 'Oh my gods,' gasped Laura, massaging her aching face. 'I have to pee,' she announced suddenly, getting up, wobbling, and promptly sitting back down again. 'My legs appear to be drunk,' she said, as if unable to fathom how this remarkable effect had been accomplished. The second attempt was more of a success, though her path to the bathroom wasn't exactly straight and true.

'I'm surprised she's not under the table yet,' commented Saul quietly, once the door was safely shut.

'Give her time,' he said. 'Seems to be where she's aiming for.'

Saul briefly raised an eyebrow but said nothing, being in no position to comment on anyone else's drinking habits. 'Seems to be having a good time.'

'Just don't tell her about that stripper on Canceron.'

'Was that the one who could tie a cherry stalk in a knot with her tongue?' he asked thoughtfully.

'That's the one,' said Bill, glancing at the bathroom door, just in case.

'Gods, I'd forgotten about her…' said Saul, gaze unfocussed for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. 'You know you wouldn't let me tell Carolanne that one, either.'

If Bill had a response to that Laura's re-emergence swiftly silenced him.

'You're quiet,' she noted, as she sat down. 'You weren't talking about me, were you?' she joked.

'No,' they said simultaneously and a little too quickly. She looked at them suspiciously.

'So what were you talking about?' she, naturally, asked.

'Cherries,' said Saul. Bill booted him under the table and Saul was hard-put not to yelp.

'Cherries?' she repeated.

'They're a type of fruit.'

'Yes, I know what they are.'

'Just wondering what they're gonna put on sundaes now…' Bill could have kicked him again. Laura was getting more and more suspicious by the moment and he really didn't want to get to the point where they had to tell her the Canceron-stripper story in order to convince her that they _hadn__'__t _been talking about her behind her back - when she'd walked out of the bathroom at least…

'Sundaes?' she said sceptically.

'Yeh, that's -'

'I know what a sundae is, colonel,' she said, with a slight bite of impatience.

'You looked confused.'

She narrowed her eyes but then seemed to decide she couldn't be bothered to dig for answers. 'It's alright, you don't have to tell me,' she said with an easy shrug, clumsily tapping a cigarette from the pack in front of her and rubbing Saul's loss in his face. 'You gonna deal?' she asked Bill, in whose hands the cards lay forgotten.

'Yes, ma'am,' he said, just relieved that all cherry-related inquiries had ceased. He had half a mind to grass Saul up to Ellen…

No sooner had he thought it than there was a knock at the door. Bill looked at his watch and saw it was almost midnight, a bit late for a social call, so it probably really was Ellen. 'Frak!' said Tigh, jumping up and looking for a likely place to hide. You'd think the admiral's quarters would have more than one exit. He looked at Laura, who took one look at him and started shaking her head and laughing. 'Bill, hide my glass. You - with me,' he said, urging Laura out of her chair as another, more persistent knock came. 'I rigged an election for you - _you owe me!_' he said, dragging her out of her chair and not caring that Bill looked like he'd rather like to thump him for his last comment. Apparently rigged elections were not to be treated lightly but this was life and death!

'This is ridiculous,' said Laura, nonetheless ending up shut in the tiny bathroom with Saul.

'Shh!' he said, when they heard the outer hatch open but Laura could feel a fit of the giggles bubbling up. It was just so _absurd,_ they were acting like childrenand she knew that if any one of them were sober this would never have happened and, gods help her, she couldn't keep it in! She clamped a hand over her mouth, Tigh shooting her murderous looks which only made her laugh harder as they listened to the muffled sound of Bill's deep voice, no doubt proclaiming that not only was Saul not there, but he hadn't seen him all evening.

'Will you pull yourself together! You've gotta get out there!' Tigh hissed. Laura just looked at him, biting her lip and shaking with suppressed laughter. '_Go_!'

She gave him a thumbs up, knowing that if she opened her mouth she was doomed, and pulled the door open, almost squashing Tigh between it and the wall. She half-tripped through the doorway, vision impaired by the tears in her eyes. As predicted, Tigh's attractive but taxing wife, Ellen, was there.

'Ellen!' she said in a strangled voice. She also said, 'How nice to see you,' but most of it registered at a pitch only audible to dogs. Behind Ellen's slightly bemused back, Bill was beginning to feel the urge to laugh himself as he witnessed Laura's struggle. Every time she opened her mouth to say something giggles dribbled out instead.

'I didn't mean to interrupt,' said Ellen, glancing between the two of them curiously. 'Just looking for that husband of mine.'

Laura nodded, unable to do anything else bar squeak.

'But I guess he's not here. Um, enjoy the rest of your evening,' she said, with a shadow of a smirk as she moved towards the door. It would have come off perfectly had it not been for the 'Ach-choo!', immediately followed by what sounded remarkably like skin and bone connecting with a door at speed. Laura thought it best not to be an obstacle in Ellen's path and (in an attitude not dissimilar to someone in desperate need of a bathroom) scurried over to where Bill stood in front of the sofas, almost folded in half with laughing. Slapstick was not dead.

They sank as one hysterical mass onto the sofa though Laura - who appeared to have lost all muscle control - continued sliding until she was on the floor, crying into Bill's thigh, absolutely incapable of looking contrite even in the face of Ellen's obvious and deep displeasure when she emerged from the bathroom with Saul in tow. Saul was _not_ laughing but he did have a nice red weal coming up on his forehead.

Ellen looked as if she'd like to take the matter up with Laura but quickly deduced that it would be pointless since both former-president and admiral were practically insensible. 'I'll deal with you two later,' she promised. 'Now, you mind explaining to me what the _frak _you were doing locked in a bathroom with that _school-teacher?__'_ they could hear her demanding as she dragged poor Saul off by the ear, who looked as if he'd rather be on his way to the gallows.

'Oh. My. Gods,' gasped Laura, when she regained the power of speech ten minutes later, pulling herself into a sitting position (rather than continuing to lie flat on her back wedged between the trunk and the sofa, as she had been since the Tighes departure).

Bill was also sitting up, ruddy-faced as he wiped tears from his eyes. 'Not quite how I saw the night ending,' he commented.

'Do you think he'll survive?'

'Intact?' he asked, looking dubious, and they both started laughing again.

Laura could still hear him laughing as he took off to the head to relieve himself. She chuckled to herself and yawned, sinking back into the sofa, legs propped up on the trunk. The next thing she knew Bill was shaking her by the shoulder and she frowned a little, blearily attempting to open her eyes. 'I'm not sleeping,' she slurred.

'Course you're not,' he humoured her.

She hummed, trying to wake herself up a little. 'S'pose that's my cue to leave,' she said, dragging a hand through her hair and taking a deep breath as she sat up. She squinted around for her shoes which she had dim recollections of discarding under the dining table some hours ago. Bill retrieved them for her, agreeing that it was probably high-time she was tucked up in bed.

'I'll walk you back to your room,' he said as she slipped the second shoe on and reached out for a helping hand to stand.

'Oh no, that's 'kay, s'not far, I'll be fine,' she said airily, tottering precariously on her feet before she'd even contemplated locomotion and Bill caught her shoulders. She swallowed, 'I don't feel so good.'

'Do you feel sick?' he asked urgently, preferring to know sooner rather than vomit-covered-uniform-later.

'I need to sit down,' she said, clutching his arm for support as the couch see-sawed below her.

He helped her sit before fetching the pail-like metal bin from beside his desk, hastily tipping out the paper contents. When he returned she was sitting forward with her head in her hands, groaning faintly. 'Here,' he said, placing the bin close to her feet. 'In case you feel ill.'

She slid it across to sit between her feet in optimum vomit-catching position, very much hoping she wouldn't have need of it. Meanwhile Bill wetted a flannel in the bathroom, wringing out the excess water and folding it into a neat, forehead-sized rectangle before taking it to her. He also had a tall glass of water standing by.

He spent ten minutes listening to her measured breathing from his perch on the trunk opposite before finally asking if the room had stopped spinning yet. She groaned again, pulling the flannel away from her face as she slowly raised her head to look at him. '_Why_ did you let me drink so much?'

He harrumphed, offering her the glass of water. She accepted it with a sincere thank you, gulping down a few mouthfuls with a thirsty smack of her lips.

'Mind if I just keel over here?' she asked, when she had taken her fill, handing both flannel and glass back to him.

'You can take the bed,' he said immediately but she shook her head.

'Trust me, with the state I'm in I wouldn't notice if I slept on the floor,' she said, moving the bin and slipping her shoes off again.

Before he could insist she was pulling her sweater off, exposing several inches of stomach in the process, and he felt compelled to get up and search for a spare pillow and blanket. Of course by the time he'd reached the other side of his quarters he'd remembered that the spare bedding was inside the very trunk he'd just been sitting on. Fortunately he still had the glass and flannel in his hands so he managed to cover his momentary fluster by disposing of them.

When he returned to remove the few items still scattered on top of the trunk Laura's attire was thankfully straightened out, though the little black vest she wore was distressingly low-cut. Luckily Laura was too sozzled to notice the way his gaze kept flickering uncontrollably towards her 'vest' as he bent over the trunk. He let the lid fall shut as he straightened up with a couple of blankets and turned to find her looking up at him expectantly, swaying slightly with inebriation, hair tousled from it's trip through her jumper.

She was beautiful. How could he think otherwise? In that moment he was incapable of thinking anything _else_. Not that he would act on it when she was like this. And he didn't just mean drunk. When the alcohol wore off she still wouldn't be in any position to hear that he had those kinds of feelings for her. Any betrayal of them now would be sure to end in disaster. A guy could dream though and he was pretty sure he'd be dreaming of Laura in that black vest tonight.

Laura gestured for the pillow and he broke eye-contact, looking down as he unfolded a blanket, motioning for her to scoot up a little as he spread it over the seat. Her gaze followed his actions without really seeing and he wondered, not for the first time, what she was thinking when she got that glazed look in her eye. This time his curiosity was to be somewhat satiated though he felt a pricking of his heart at her words.

'What do I have to do to make you hate me?' she asked softly. 'I've been awful to you and … look at you,' she shrugged, looking as though she might cry over his entirely banal efforts to make sure she was comfortable for the night.

'Why do you want me to hate you?' he asked, because he couldn't answer her question. Because he honestly couldn't think of anything that could change his feelings for her so drastically.

'Because you should,' she said simply, as if he would mistake her assuredness for truth. As if he could. 'You're better than me, Bill. You do the right thing. I do 'the right thing right now' or 'the right thing for the survival of the fleet' but that wasn't always _the_ right thing. I don't have the courage to stand on that kind of principle when there are lives at stake. I didn't have the _right_. They trusted me with their _lives_. But you, you're... noble. You're a hero, you're _Zeus _on Mount Olympus, you're -'

'Not nearly as drunk as you are,' he interrupted quickly, trying to laugh off her litany. In no universe did he believe himself to be made of better stuff than Laura Roslin but he'd rather tell her so when she was more likely to remember it - and believe it. 'You need a good night's rest.'

'Huh,' she laughed, lying down. 'Chance would be a fine thing.'

He'd turned down the lights and was headed towards his own bed when she finally spoke again. 'I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you,' she called out of the shadows after him. He stopped, turning back but not moving any closer, sensing she needed the darkness and distance to say what she had to say. 'I don't mean to be such a bitch all the time, I just,' he heard her sigh, shift a little. 'I don't know what I'm going to do or what's going to happen with this frakking planet and… I'm scared,' she finally admitted with difficulty. 'I hate just sitting around here. It's making me crazy.'

'I know,' he said softly. He hadn't been the one who needed to hear it out loud. 'Get some sleep.'

* * *

AN: And that's the end of part one, folks. Please please me no end by leaving a review. The first chapter of The ExPresident 2 is going up tonight. Thanks for reading!


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